


Passing Time

by Paia_Loves_Pie



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Soulmates, M/M, Soulmates
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-02-24
Updated: 2020-02-23
Packaged: 2021-02-27 21:47:44
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,714
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22872718
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Paia_Loves_Pie/pseuds/Paia_Loves_Pie
Summary: Greg has been waiting a long time to find his soulmate, but when he comes across evidence of their whereabouts as part of an ongoing investigation, Greg wonders if he is going to like what he finds.
Relationships: Mycroft Holmes/Greg Lestrade
Comments: 33
Kudos: 75
Collections: Mystrade Soulmates Week 2020





	Passing Time

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks to all of my second readers who were very patient with me as I worked to find the story.

Greg stared at the page in his hands. It had been sitting in a manila envelope in his inbox all morning, a red stamp marking it CONFIDENTIAL on the front. He hadn’t unburied it until late afternoon, then opened it, thinking it was the coroner’s report from the diplomat case. But it was far, far more important than that. 

Greg’s fingers felt numb, like a wooden limb as he scanned the information again. Then again. And again. Worried it might be a mistake. Desperate for it to be true. 

His eyes were drawn to the two identical fingerprints laid out, side by side on the page. 

On the left, a fingerprint he’d pulled from the crime scene last week. On the right, an old photo of his wrist - a closeup of the the whorl imprinted there - the soulmark that he’d registered with the International Soulmark Database on his 18th birthday. 

There was his name at the top of the page, with his database ID: 

**ISD-ID:** #G22394765

 **SOULPRINT DATABASE MATCH:** (99.9%) - Gregory Jean Lestrade

 **SOULPRINT DONOR MATCH:** UNKNOWN

Greg reeled - his soulmate was here. In London. Greg had stood in the same place that his soulmate had stood, just a week ago. Perhaps even spoken to them during his investigation. Passed them in the hallway. Touched something they touched - they could have pressed the same button in the lift and  _ right now _ their prints could be overlapping. He felt so close, but impossibly far - like a cloud he could see but never touch.

A sticky note from Alan explained that a fingerprint from the crime scene had come back from analysis with no matches in the criminal databases, nor in any other government registry. He’d run it through the ISD as a last-ditch effort, but the print came up as an anonymous entry. But Greg already knew it was futile. He’d been looking for his soulmate for going on twenty years now, checking his soulmark against the government databases once a year, searching for a match to the print on his wrist. A torturous birthday present to himself. It had always come back with no match. 

Until today.

Greg had been so excited to register - his father had taken him down to the registry office, and clapped him on the back once it was official. He hoped for an instant match, but he knew sometimes it took a while to get matched if you were the older of the two. You might have to go a few years until your soulmate came of age and got registered, too. Or if you were one of the unlucky ones who were a second match, you might have to wait even longer. Greg’s football mate, Cory, didn’t find his match until he was 35, after his soulmate’s first match passed away. A year later, Cory’s soulprint appeared on his previously blank wrist, and Allison had manifested a second soulprint beside the first. Allison found Cory through the ISD as soon as she’d registered it, and they’d been inseparable ever since. 

Greg had waited for years before finally deciding to date. He was 32 when he met Jennifer on his morning run. They bumped into each other in the park when he caught the runaway dog she had been chasing down. Jennifer didn’t have a soulmark - like Cory. Greg had liked her instantly - her bright smile and silly sense of humor - and they had a whirlwind romance. Greg wondered if this couldn’t be just as good. And things were good, at first. And then not so good. And then a young, strung-out Sherlock told him about Jeremy the widower - the gym teacher Jennifer had been seeing behind Greg’s back. 

That had been embarrassing, but he couldn’t exactly blame her. He knew the risks when they’d met. When they’d decided to try it out even though they weren’t a match. At least he hadn’t married her, but he could have done without Sherlock flagging his dirty laundry in front of his entire team. And he definitely could have done without the “I told you so” phone call from his sister when she heard the news. After that, he’d decided that alone was better. 

This way, he’d be ready when it happened. When he found his soulmate. 

And now at 39, he held the evidence (literal evidence!) in his hands that his soulmate was out there. They existed. And he had no idea how to find them. Greg wanted to pray, only he didn’t know whom to ask. Please.  _ Please _ , he thought. 

Greg smoothed a hand over his head, as if by calming his hair, he could calm down his wild heartbeat as well. He was closer now than he’d ever been before. The stakes for solving this crime had just skyrocketed.The adrenaline was coursing through his body in a sickening rush.

But he wasn’t a detective for nothing. He placed the paper carefully back into the envelope, smoothing a crease he’d accidentally folded into it with his desperate grip. 

Greg got out his notebook - he always worked better in lists - and went to work. He knew a few things by process of elimination. The fingerprint had been lifted from a crime scene in an area of Whitehall that had limited access. You either had to work there or be a registered, escorted guest. There would be records - sign in, sign out. There would be video of everyone who had entered and exited, although you had to have very high clearance to view them. His team was still working on access for those. All regular employees had their prints on file, so it couldn’t be any of them. He would crosscheck those against the prints found at the scene and focus on any guests who had visited the premises. Someone  _ somewhere _ had to be a match.

But there was also no telling how long that fingerprint had been there. It was found on a door frame - not a window that got washed regularly. It could have been there for ages. His soulmate could be any one of hundreds of people. 

The urge to call Sherlock was strong. In this moment, he’d empty his bank account for a chance to find his match. All this time, he’d been alone. Lonely. He wanted it to finally,  _ finally _ be his turn. To get what everyone else around him had experienced decades ago. That fabled sense of rightness. Connection. 

_ Love _ . 

It was a long shot, finding his match. An unregistered print was nearly unheard of. Your print was used for everything - operator’s license, banking, applying for jobs, purchasing a home. To survive in this world without one, you’d either have to live on the margins of society, or be so far above it - or below it - that you could circumvent the system. Greg wasn’t sure which possibility made him more nervous. 

What if his soulmate was some kind of mastermind criminal? He couldn’t imagine how someone like that would be a perfect match for him. Would he have to quit his job? Go on the run? All kinds of unlikely scenarios ran through his head as he examined the mark on his arm, smoothing his thumb overtop. 

Slowly, Greg put the page down. His initial numbness faded and a simmering hum took up residence in his body. He couldn’t place the feeling. It wasn’t anger. It wasn’t sadness. Maybe it was disappointment. To know that they’d been so close to one another, possibly all this time, and his soulmate hadn’t even  _ tried _ to reach out. It felt like loss, only he’d never had them. Premature grief. 

Greg had been registered for years. Alone for years. The craving for his companion had kept him company his whole life, but apparently his soulmate didn’t feel the same. How could someone be his perfect match, and abandon him like this? 

It wasn’t fair. The ISD made it so easy to find one another. Successful matches were found every day as soulmates turned 18 and got their ID. You had to deliberately opt out to be excluded from the database. It wasn’t a casual act - it was a deliberate attempt to hide. 

What could have frightened them so badly that they didn’t even want to meet Greg? To see him, know his name? Shake hands. Perhaps it was fright. Perhaps circumstance? But registration was free. And to be prevented for more than twenty years? No, this had to be purposeful. But to what purpose? 

Not all soulmates were romantic partners. Not all of them married each other. Some were just lifelong great friends. But even marriages were better when both partners had the additional support of their soulmates by their sides. They all complemented one another. In some rare cases, multiple matches occurred, each one displaying the print of another person in a round-robin of three or four. Maybe more, but Greg hadn’t heard of it. 

In some ways, Greg feared it was holding back his career. In the forces, the officers spoke highly of soulmates - someone to balance all the bad in the world with some stability at home. Some support when things got tough. There were rumblings in the higher-ups that Greg was still unmatched. 

He didn’t want to be angry, but in spite of himself, he recognized a touch of bitterness that had been creeping in for a while now, if he was honest. Everywhere he looked, there were soulmates. Except him. What was so wrong with Greg that his soulmate didn’t feel the same pull - the same restlessness inside him. The seeking. Whoever it was, they must have a strong constitution. 

He set his mouth in a stubborn line. Greg couldn’t make someone want him, but it would have been nice to have an explanation. As a detective, unsolved cases rattled around in his consciousness like a rock in his shoe. 

But right now, he had a real case to solve, just like every other day. People were depending on him, and he would manage. He ripped the page of notes out of his notebook and stuffed it inside the envelope with the test results, then shoved the whole thing at the bottom of the pile on his desk, resolving not to think about it any more. He had a job to do.


End file.
